


Of harps and heroes

by Dunadanka



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fíli and Kíli Brotherly Love, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunadanka/pseuds/Dunadanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little something where Fili figures out he's related to one true hero and Kili ends up in mighty need of a fiddle tutor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of harps and heroes

Fili heard familiar sounds of harp strings, drifting through the wind like soft jingling and whispering of running water. Following the sound, he passed through the maze of coridors, by many doors and archways and found himself on a small balcony overlooking snowy valleys in the stone embrace of Ered Luin. Kili was there again, seated on a marble balustrade with his back against the cold rough wall silver-plated with snow. Snow was everywhere: on the floor, on the mountains’ slopes, glistening in Kili’s hair and on the folds of a heavy blanket of rich furs he brought from his room and threw around himself for warmth. On his knees he was holding a small harp, its frame shimmering dimly in the rays of blue winter moon far above the mountains. His fingers were absent-mindedly touching the strings, and scattered sounds were dripping from them like drops of cold water from melting icicles in spring. 

Kili raised his head to the sound of approaching steps and smiled his greetings before lowering his gaze back to the harp and continuing his exertions. 

‘Giving a recital?’ Fili asked, seating himself with all possible comfort there was on the floor opposite Kili. The words came from his lips in transparent steam of warm breath into the crisp freshness of the night.

Kili nodded, moving his stiff fingers across the strings and stubbornly gritting his teeth at the chaos of sounds he’d produced. Some vicious soul told him once that practicing music with fingers paralyzed by cold would help a good deal, and ever since than Kili had kept torturing his hands this way in his inexplicable and stupid desire to master the harp. 

Fili was fairly drunk after a jolly evening in the company of some good old friends and some even older and better brews, the burning flow of mead he had consumed was coursing through his body, warding off the cold, and he had only been outside the warm halls for some minutes, while Kili had been here for goodness knew how long already. He had to be utterly frozen by now. Fili felt a jolt of strong desire to grab Kili by the elbow and simply drag him back inside the inviting warmth and cosiness of the halls behind the door, but he suppressed it. If Kili wants to turn into an ice sculpture honoring those of none talent but much stubbornness, than so be it. And he’d do the same to keep him company. 

Kili stroked the harp again, and this time the melody was heard through the thick mist of sounds from accidentally strummed strings.

‘A progress indeed’ Fili chuckled, rubbing his palms for warmth. ‘Will you ever tell me why you’re doing this? Isn’t that bow of yours enough for exercising fingers?’

He was sure Kili wouldn’t answer, but yet he did.

‘Thorin plays it’ Kili said with a sorrowful note in his husky voice. 

‘Right! So we already have a harpist in here, why not practice something else?’ 

Kili shrugged. 

‘Thorin plays it’ he repeated.

Oh yes. Thorin. He had that something about him that changed everything around, like the cold faraway moon was doing now: the world remained the same but seemed so very different, and even the most ordinary things appeared a bit magical under its dim light, magical and mesmerizing. And so was Thorin. The harp, the very tone of his voice, his fencing style and favourite dishes, his regal looks - all of that was desperately idolized by Kili. Fili, on his side, managed to resist this somehow. Maybe it was out of sheer luck, because of nature: he simply looked differently, with his wild mane of gold and his broad honest features, so contrasting to his uncle, mother and brother’s noble cold looks framed in dark locks. They were of pure Durin’s blood, it shone through their alike features, while he completely took after his father. And so Thorin was son of Thrain son of Thror, the heir of Durin the Deathless, and Dis was Durin’s heir’s sister, and Kili was Thorin Oakenshield’s sister-son, but he... he was simply Fili. Thorin might have had a different view on the matter, but that was how Fili felt about himself. And that made him perfectly happy with his soft spot for cutting a dash, and his fiddle, and his love of parties, singing and dancing, and his boyish fancy for weapons tucked in all possible places all about his garments. A precious thing that is to be comfortable with what you are, and a rare one, too. And just the thing Kili lacked badly.

Fili recalled what had happened earlier that day, before Kili was gone from the feast and dismissed all the fun there for the harp-playing lesson here, in bitter cold and with nothing more than wind and snow to keep him company. There were laughs and cheers, and endless tales of battles and skills with weapons from the elders and even more showing-off from the youngsters, and Kili was boasting the loudest of his archery brilliance, so unusual to be found among their folk, and everybody around were showering him with shouts of tease and approval, and than Thorin’s deprecative glance pierced the hall like a cold shooting star and wiped the smile off Kili’s gleeful face in an instance, and the everlasting shadow of uncertainty crawled over his features again... In moments like that Fili felt pure hatred towards Thorin, for robbing his little brother of that careless smiles, that innocent joy and the feeling of the whole world lying at his feet. These were the real treasures, not the lifeless hoard Smaug was guarding somewhere on the other side of the world, and Thorin, as it seemed, felt like stealing others’ treasures in return for those that were stolen from him. 

Kili made one more effort on playing the tune he had been practicing, and once again it came out in a waterfall of odd sounds, and he cursed under his breath, a spasm of disappointed anger distorting his face. 

‘I’ll never get to do it!’ he exclaimed in exasperation, and by the twitch of his hand Fili guessed he was about to throw the harp onto the floor and had restrained himself in the very last second.

‘Thorin’s not half as good with a bow as you are’ suddenly stated Fili. ‘That’s why he was that gloomy this evening, brother. He just didn’t like being reminded he’s not always the best.’ 

Kili looked at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and amusement.

‘He’s a dozen times better than me with all the rest. With a sword, with an axe, with a...’

‘... a harp’ Fili muttered, earning an irritated glance from his brother.

‘How very funny.’ 

They both knew it was not funny at all. 

‘I only want him to be proud of me’ Kili murmured some time later, and pulled his fur quilt tighter around his shoulders in a defensive manner. ‘Is it that bad?’

‘And what is there about you not to be already proud of?’

Kili frowned and bowed his head.

‘I just thought... Thorin has been through so much: the dragon, all those grave battles, our grandfather’s disappearance, all of us here to care for... And I have experienced nothing at all, I’ve had nothing on my way to surmount.’ 

‘It’s something to thank Mahal for, not to mourn over!’ Fili interrupted, but Kili was paying no attention.

‘And everybody admires him’ he babbled on. ‘He is a true king, even without a kingdom and a crown, and this says something! What he is means so much more than what he has! And he...’ Kili faltered, unable to find proper words to speak himself, and ended up breathing out desperately: ‘He bows to no one and looks up to nobody. And I thought that if I were like him, even a wee bit, he would... Oh, I don’t know. He’d think I’m some good.’ 

Fili looked him in the eye, amused and moved at the same time.

‘But he does!’ he exclaimed with a laugh. ‘We all love you, you fool, and being loved is so much more than making someone proud of you.’

Kili was clearly not persuaded.

‘It’s that lass of yours making you speak this way’ he grumbled and rolled his eyes as Fili’s lips curled in both very smug and very dreamy smile. ‘I’d rather Thorin was proud of me than loved me just because he’s related to me and is therefore just obliged to do so!’

Fili clicked his tongue irritably.

‘Being your relative doesn’t oblige anyone to love you, rather the contrary, you know? It was far from fun to jump up ten times a night to sooth you after nightmares and persuade you there were no goblins under your bed, and keep an eye on you all the time when I’d have preferred to keep both of them on Grainna.’ He nudged Kili on the shoulder. ‘After all, you’ve robbed me of being the youngest with all the privileges there were, and you’re forever guilty of making me old and responsible some hundred years before I intended to. But I like it, I like that I had you to stay awake for, to look after and be responsible for.’ 

He would absolutely never have said all that, if it were not for the mead, definitely. Slightly embarrassed of his uncommon hearty frankness, Fili crumbled his speech up and hurriedly blurted out: ‘And I like you, and I am proud of you, that’s it.’ 

‘Proud of me?’ Kili stiffed a gloomy laugh. ‘For what, for Durin’s sake? I always act like a fool, and never think of anything, and I’m a lazybones, and a windbag, and there’s no dignity in me, nothing noble-like at all, and I always seem more of a Durin’s Bane than a Durin’s heir’ he readily breathed out, and the self-forgetful and nearly joyful penitence in his voice made Fili chuckle. ‘And I...’ He ran out of air and had to stop for a breath.

‘And you’re a good bit of a show-off, and never comb, and don’t have anything of a decent beard, and can’t play a thing on the bloody harp, aye’ Fili took up. ‘And you’re brave, and funny, and... No one can listen like you, and no one makes me laugh like you do, and you can... You...’

It seemed impossible to find the right words, but Fili’s mind was bursting with visions and memories of how Kili lived, thought and acted, and he had to speak them out, for once in his life. 

‘You can love like none else I’ve met’ he said. 

‘Love? I’ve never been in love!’ Kili lied, his cheeks flushing bright telltale red. ‘And I’d better never be, with looks like mine!..’ He rubbed his beardless chin with his fist and turned away. 

Fili kept looking at him, lost in thought. Heroes in songs and legends always fight against great evil, face countless legions of foes with their swords raised and undying bravery shining in their fearless eyes... To fight against great evil. Only evil. How cowardly was that, and how easy, when Kili kept throwing himself in deadly battle against the whole world, no matter good or bad, if that world had dared touch someone he loved!.. He never doubted, never made any judgement, never reasoned with what he felt. He only believed with such passionate and selfless devotion that one could call foolishness or pretense, but that was nothing else but love, love of such high order there was no place in it for any admixture of logic or truth. And this love was in everything Kili did: in the way he believed that Thorin was flawless, and that no one could ever beat Fili in a fight, and that the lass he fancied was the fairest in the whole world, and that a gang of miners, merchants and scholars raised on songs of valour and glory would win their homeland from a dragon one day. 

‘You’re a hero’ Fili spoke quietly. ‘And you’re the best thing there is in the world.’

Kili stared at him in numb amazement. Fili fidgeted uncomfortably and averted his gaze, saying with a rather stiff attempt on his usual cheeky grin:

‘So just have mercy upon my poor heart, little brother, and quit your harp playing - you’ll get dangerously close to perfection if you ever master it.’

Kili gave a little chuckle and shook his head, eyes fixed upon the instrument on his knees. For some minutes they sat in silence. When Fili finally stood up and said they were off to fetch Kili something warm to eat and drink, he barely nodded, and didn’t object when Fili gently took the harp away from his ice-cold fingers, and followed him into the halls without a word.

This peculiar reticence of his, however, did not last long.

‘A fiddle!’ Kili exclaimed out of the blue, halfway back to their room. ‘I shall learn to play it instead!’

‘A fiddle?’ Fili frowned, suddenly filled with some unclear suspicion. ‘And why is that?’

‘Because you play it!’ Kili answered in the tone of joyful obviousness, walking backwards to look Fili in the face, eyes bright with impatient enthusiasm. ‘Will you teach me? Will you? Please!’


End file.
